The Cobweb Cage

by Marina Oliver

  Sam always looked at her in a funny way when she had to go into the chemist's shop. At first she'd thought he was admiring her, and had preened slightly. Then his manner, sly and knowing, made her in some indefinable way uncomfortable and even rather frightened. She preferred to keep away from him.

  In six months she would be able to find a job. And, she vowed to herself, it would not be in Hednesford or anywhere nearby. Nor would it be in service like Marigold. Beyond that she hadn't thought, but when Johnny came home on Sunday she'd ask him to let her know about jobs in Birmingham. Soon she'd be old enough, soon she could go to a big city and get away from the grime and grind of life in a colliery town.

  *

  Richard filled his glass and pushed the port along the table. Henry swallowed hastily and refilled his own glass before pushing it on.

  'I intend to apply for a commission, too, Father,' he said firmly. His voice was steady although his hands shook slightly as he tossed off the contents of the glass.

  Mr Endersby sighed.

  'I might have expected it. All the young fools will want to be involved. But it'll be over by Christmas, Henry. Wouldn't it be better to get on with Oxford? What's the use of joining at all?'

  'Do you really believe it'll be over so soon?' Richard asked quietly. 'Is that why you're diverting most of your exports to America?'

  His father glared at him.

  'Whenever it's over, the Germans won't be buying expensive china for a while. Are you planning to join up too and desert the firm?'

  'You're still hale and hearty, Father, well able to look after the firm without me,' Richard responded.

  He bit back the retort that his father was so determined to remain in charge that for the past year he'd never even considered Richard's suggestions. There was pain behind the old man's bluster, and he didn't wish to add to it. He hadn't yet finalised his own plans to enlist in the war which had been declared a few days before.

  'That's no answer. You're rushing to the colours too, leaving your poor mother to weep for both her boys.'

  'Joining the army does not mean we inevitably get killed,' Richard said evenly. 'Many mothers will weep in the next few months, but if we don't stop the Germans soon many thousands, even millions of women will mourn for their loved ones. I can fly an aeroplane, and modern war will depend on modern inventions. I shall join the army as a pilot.'

  He had anticipated the explosion of rage, but it still made him wince. At least it had turned his father's wrath away from Henry, and the regrettable fact that the younger son had drunk considerably more wine and port than normal.

  'I mean to spend a couple of weeks visiting friends, saying farewell,' Richard said calmly when his father subsided. 'I will come here to spend a final few days with you and Mother and then go to enlist. Now ought we not to join Mother in the drawing room?'

  *

  It was Wednesday, and rather than stay in the house where all the talk was of war, even amongst the servants, Marigold decided to go and sit beside the river. She knew of a quiet backwater where she could be sure of being alone, hidden by the drooping branches of the willow trees.

  Would Richard be in the army by now? She walked along the river path, bunching her hands into fists, unaware of the pain as her nails bit into the palms. Had she been a fool to refuse the love he offered? Even if he didn't love her in the way she thought of love, it would have been better than the sheer misery which had clutched at her since that dreadful day in Blenheim Park when she had rejected him and run away, despite his pleas to her to remain.

  She'd destroyed his letters, too. She hadn't dared open any of them, and after a month or so they had ceased. She'd been able to tell Mom truthfully she no longer saw the rich young man with the car, and she knew Mary had breathed a sigh of relief.

  But how she wished she'd been less firm! Even now he might be in the army, in danger, and she'd never know. She'd never know if he lived or died.

  At the thought she uttered a heartrending sob, and pushed through the curtain of willow to throw herself down on the grass beneath.

  'Marigold, my love, what's the matter?'

  Marigold froze. She must be dreaming! It wasn't Richard's voice. Nor was it his hand on her shoulder.

  But when he lifted her up and cradled her in his arms she knew it was no dream, and clutched him feverishly as she sobbed out her misery and fears.

  'How did you find me?' she asked when she was calmer.

  'I came to meet you. I hoped Wednesday was still your day off, and waited, then followed you here. I didn't want to speak to you where we might be seen. I didn't know if you were still angry with me.'

  'Oh, Richard, I was a fool! I've been so afraid I'd never see you again.'

  'Why didn't you answer my letters? You did get them, didn't you?'

  She nodded. 'I didn't dare read them,' she said quietly. 'I knew if you wanted me I'd come to you. I had to try and forget you, because it's wrong.'

  'Then you do love me. It's not wrong to love.'

  'It is when there's no future. You're different from us, Richard. You may think you love me but you'd no more introduce me to your parents than I would you to mine.'

  He was silent, uncomfortably aware of the truth in what she said, though rather astonished to realise her parents would view him with no more favour than Sophia would accept Marigold as an acquaintance. They were worlds apart, and he'd known from the start there was no future apart from the sort of liaison he'd had with Flo or Berthe.

  At the comparison he fiercely shook his head. Marigold was no whore. She would never deliberately set out to sell her body for gain.

  She was speaking again, and for a moment he did not realise she was referring to their parents.

  'They'd all be scandalised. They'd think me no better than some of those poor girls who live in St Ebbe's or Jericho, trying to earn a living by selling their bodies because there's nothing else for them to do.'

  'I know you're not like that. But I love you so much. You love me too?'

  Shyly she nodded, and for a while was lost in the storm of sweet kisses he gave and demanded. At last, reluctant yet breathless, she drew away.

  'You're not going into the army, are you?' she asked hesitantly.

  'I must, my love. We can't let the Germans get away with what they're doing.'

  'No!'

  'Darling, I must. This year, partly to try and forget you, I've been learning to fly an aeroplane. They'll need pilots in this war, men like me.'

  She began to shiver uncontrollably, and he wrapped his jacket round her and tried to soothe her.

  Marigold was still shivering, but gradually her eyelids drooped, her breathing deepened, and she slept, exhausted by the stress of emotion.

  Richard surveyed her with wry amusement. He'd tried to forget her, especially when his letters went unanswered. He'd expected she'd be no more of a memory than Berthe, if a sweeter one, but it hadn't happened like that. Marigold had burrowed her way into his heart and refused to be dislodged or forgotten, however hard he tried.

  How often during the past lonely months since they'd quarrelled had he dreamed of her in his arms. But she looked a child still, in her plain cotton dress fastened high under her chin, her golden hair in tumbled disarray, her cheeks flushed and her adorable mouth so soft and tempting. How could he abuse her trust? He didn't want to, but she was so desirable!

  A few minutes later she woke to find her head nestled against his shoulder, and her arm across his chest. Her eyes filled first with alarm, and then confusion as recollection of recent events returned.

  'I – I'm sorry!' she gasped, and tried to slide away from him.

  'Don't move. You look so comfortable.'

  She gulped, took a deep breath, smiled at him and nodded, and all his resolve instantly dissipated. He kissed away the tears, and when she trustingly turned her face towards him, lifting up her mouth to his, he surrendered to desire and kissed her long and deep.

  Marigold clung to him, returning h
is fervour with a passion matching his own.

  'Richard, I love you!' she murmured, and suddenly shy at her declaration, buried her face in his shoulder.

  He laughed softly.

  'I love you too. I didn't know how much until I saw you again. I don't know how I've survived all this time without you.'

  Her ardour surprised him, but he realised she had missed him as much as he had her, and the knowledge made him wonderfully content. As their caresses grew more daring he marvelled at the firmness and perfection of her body.

  Marigold was lost to every consideration but the sheer bliss of being held in his arms again, of knowing he was back and she was still his beloved. Instinctively she responded to his loving with freedom and joy.

  She had little to guide her. The crude insinuations of her fellow servants were nothing to do with this fever of desire, this torrent of bliss which flooded her entire being.

  When he joined with her finally, she was engulfed by an ecstasy never dreamed of, and responded fiercely, triumphantly, aware only in some distant corner of her mind that now he was truly hers, and always would be.

  *

  'So we're getting married in Longbridge next Sunday, by special licence. It's all fixed,' Johnny said breathlessly.

  They had scarcely entered the house and Lucy been introduced before he'd begun his explanations. Marigold, who had been on the same train but had not seen them as she walked slowly, dreamily, from the station, to enter the house a few minutes later, hadn't even taken off her hat.

  'I hope you approve,' Lucy said quietly, looking from John to Mary with such unconscious appeal in her eyes that Mary stifled the protest she'd been about to utter.

  She was a pretty girl, Mary admitted, with her vivid blue eyes, turned up nose, and mop of black curly hair. So far as one could tell after five minutes' acquaintance she was nicely spoken and well mannered.

  Before she could speak Ivy interrupted.

  'Johnny! Oh, Lucy, this is exciting. Can I be a bridesmaid? Please?'

  Lucy smiled at her, but shook her head.

  'Ivy, I'd love to ask you if it were possible, but there isn't time. There's no time to make a dress for me, let alone for bridesmaids.'

  'I wouldn't want a very pretty dress, with lots of frills,' Ivy said hurriedly.

  'Lucy won't be having a new dress at all,' Johnny intervened.

  After a moment Ivy turned away, and quietly went to clamber up onto Marigold's lap, where she buried her head in her sister's shoulder.

  'It's because of my scars,' she whispered, her breath catching in a sob.

  'Nonsense, Ivy, that's got nothing to do with it,' Marigold tried to console her.

  'Will you let me be bridesmaid when you get married?' Ivy asked.

  Marigold did not reply apart from hugging Ivy close. She would never marry. Richard would never marry her, however much he said he loved her. He wouldn't marry a servant. And she couldn't endure being married to anyone else, sharing the laughter and the intimacies as she had a few days ago with Richard. The very thought made her shudder with distaste.

  Mary was speaking to Lucy, and Marigold thrust aside her own thoughts.

  'You're very young, both of you,' Mary said, suppressing a sigh. It had come far earlier than she'd thought, losing Johnny. If only he'd been honest, not stolen things, not had to be sent away. Then she chided herself for selfishness. He was happy, doing a job he loved and getting on well.

  'We know our own minds,' Johnny replied.

  'But if – if you were killed, lad, and Lucy was left with a child, it'd be hard for her,' John said gruffly.

  Lucy turned to him, taking Johnny's hand in hers.

  'We all know Johnny risks his life, and I'm proud he's willing to even though I'd rather the need wasn't there. If he gave me a child I'd be just as proud, and there would still be something of Johnny left if he didn't come back. Would you deny us the chance of that happiness? And in case you're wondering, I'm not already with child, Johnny and I haven't done wrong. But if you refuse permission for us to wed I'll do my best to get pregnant, whatever my religion says, and whether his child's a bastard or not!'

  Well spoken, Lucy, Marigold thought in admiration. She could never have faced Richard's parents so proudly. The thought hit her like a blow in the stomach and she paled, thankful she was already sitting down.

  She had never considered the possibility of becoming pregnant. On both Thursday and Friday she'd managed to escape for a couple of hours and meet Richard in their private haven beneath the willows. She had willingly and joyfully given herself to him without thought of possible consequences.

  But her case was different. However much he loved her, or said he did, and she believed him, he could never marry her. If he weren't enlisting he might once more offer to set her up in a cottage near his home, as he'd done when they quarrelled, but did she now want that? She couldn't be his kept woman, for it would mean she was for ever cut off from her beloved family. Yet she couldn't endure to lose him for ever. It was an insoluble problem. If she bore his child there would be no escape for her, no marriage to avoid having their child stigmatised. She forced her attention back to the present.

  'It's earlier than I'd have wished to see Johnny wed,' her father was saying, 'but times are different now, and I like your spirit, young Lucy, so you'll have my blessing.'

  Lucy gave an unladylike whoop of delight and crossed over to John's chair to kiss him, while Johnny turned to hug his mother. For a while all was confusion, and Mary hastily wiped away a tear. To disguise her emotion she began bustling about with preparations for dinner.

  It was to be a simple wedding, Lucy declared as they sat round the big table, eating stewed rabbit, with potatoes and fresh peas out of the garden, followed by sippet pudding. Mary had opened a bottle of her new elderflower champagne, and Marigold thought fleetingly of the real champagne she had once drunk with Richard.

  'You can get a train on Saturday to Birmingham, then change and get one to Longbridge, it goes from New Street. Or if you prefer you could get a tram to Selly Oak and then one of the new petrol buses towards Rubery. I've written down directions here for both ways, and where you're to get off,' Johnny said importantly. 'Lucy's mother will make up beds for the night. Will you be able to come from Oxford, Marigold? I'm going to pay for the tickets,' Johnny said.

  'I'm sure Mrs Roberts would give me time off,' she said quickly. She couldn't refuse to attend her brother's wedding. It might be the last time she'd see Johnny before he enlisted in the army. It could be the last time ever.

  'Mom will get a meal for us, but I suppose you'll have to be back for work on Monday?' Lucy asked, and Mary nodded.

  'Yes, love, we'll have to come back Sunday night. Will you and Johnny be going away?'

  'Just for a few days,' Johnny said. 'Neither of us've ever seen the sea, so we thought we'd go to Blackpool.'

  'Where's Blackpool?' Ivy demanded, having recovered her spirits and appearing to forget her disappointment.

  'The nearest I shall ever get to Ireland,' Lucy said with a laugh. 'I've an aunt there who runs a boarding house, she'll put us up, and we can wave across the Irish Sea and watch the boats.'

  The rest of the day passed with lots to discuss. No-one noticed when Ivy slipped away as usual and knocked on the back door of Mr Potter's house.

  'Ain't Poppy 'ere?' Sam said, disgruntled.

  'I've told you, she won't come,' Ivy replied. 'I tried to get her to walk with us on the Chase, so's you could ask her yourself, but she always makes some excuse about too much work.'

  'If yer 'elped 'er more she'd 'ave time,' he grumbled.

  Ivy shrugged and pushed past him. She knew he'd never ask Poppy, and she had no intention of disclosing her own activities to her older sister. Neither Poppy nor anyone else was going to share in what she'd discovered for herself.

  'I can't come next week,' she announced as she stripped off her blouse.

  'Can't come? But yer 'as ter, I 'ave ter put on the ointment
ev'ry week,' Sam protested.

  'It doesn't seem to be doing much good,' Ivy commented, squinting down at her still flat chest.

  Sam was already breathing hard.

  'P'raps I should put more on,' he said, approaching the bed. 'Lay down.'

  'The other first, for my scars,' Ivy said firmly, and held out her arm.

  Sighing, Sam complied, and when he would have stopped after a cursory application Ivy protested vigorously.

  'They're not getting any better either. Rub in more of that, slower,' she ordered.

  Sam continued rubbing in the ointment, and to his surprise found that if he did it slowly, deliberately following the lines of the scars, it gave him almost as much satisfaction as did smoothing the other ointment over Ivy's board-flat chest. But it wasn't enough.

  'I think I know what's wrong,' he said when Ivy was prepared to move on.

  'What?'

  'It's not enough to rub just your chest. When bosoms grow bottoms do as well. P'raps I should be rubbin' it in on yer aase, too.'

  Ivy knew by now that when his face grew red, and his eyes held that peculiar glitter, the inexplicable excitement had taken over and she could increase her own demands.

  'I don't see why,' she stalled.

  'Well, bosoms and bottoms is all ter do wi' growin' babies, ain't they?' he demanded. 'Stands ter reason.'

  A sudden vision of Lucy's trim figure, her rounded bosom and curvacious hips, came into Ivy's mind. They'd been talking of babies before dinner. Perhaps he was right.

  'I'm not taking my skirt off,' she declared.

  Sam sensed victory and his breathing grew heavier.

  'Yer needn't, I can feel well enough what I'm doin' if yer just pulls yer drawers down,' he reassured her quickly.

  'Sixpence, then.'

  'Yer what?'

  'Sixpence. Each time. Each time I let you put on the ointment, you'll give me sixpence.'

  'But thass a lot! An' I'm doin' it fer you,' he added swiftly.

  'No, you're not. I'm an experiment, like you said, for that ointment. I don't believe it's ever going to work,' she added, and reached over for her blouse.